am i making you feel sick?

"Had a rough night?" He asks, instead of commenting on how he can practically taste the drugs in her system, how her vein pulsates so inviting, loudly in her neck. This hunger is why he avoids closeness to mortals, to creatures whose blood calls to him, a siren song in the dark sea. He swallows, throat bulging. "Where would you like to go? Perhaps the docks? Watch the ships, the waves." It always brings him peace, after all. Maybe it will bring her some, too.

This one was different. Most of her hallucinations were brief and short, they didn't stay for too long before she felt the weight of her loneliness again. Rought night? Celest chuckled, that was one way to put it. "You could say that." She sighed taking another strawberry to her lips. Her head was her biggest enemy most of her nights, and whenever things became too loud she only knew this way out.

"What about your night?" She studied him as they walked arm in arm. Celest didn't mean to pry, but she was nothing like the librarian that kept her mount shut and her head down whenever the drugs took a hold of her. She was loud, and present. Everything she wished she could be under the sunlight. "You have sad eyes." There was a question hidden there but one she didn't need the answers to. Looking at him under the pale moonlight was like looking in the mirror. Maybe this hallucination was just a reflexion of herself. Quite the joke, she thought.

What are you scared of?

''Oh silly, forget about closing up, this is much more important- look,'' she laughed it off, breaking many more rules than just one. Having made her way closer to the very good smelling lady. Strategically lowering one of the straps of her shoulder bag, she scooped out a baby animal that perfectly fit in one hand. The perfect distraction, a kitten she'd stolen from a couple of foolish humans that clearly weren't paying attention to their possessions just roaming freely in their fenced backyard. ''This poor baby was dumped in the back alley, can you believe that? It might have died if I hadn't heard it mewling - begging for rescue. Can you believe that?''

''Look how cute- take it,'' she held out the white furry thing with orange spots, its claws trying to dig deeper into her skin, ''who would do such a thing, surely not a sweetheart like you, no?''

“Oh, look at you!” she cooed, reaching out with gentle hands to take the kitten. “How could anyone be so heartless? It’s absolutely precious.” She cradled the kitten carefully, her fingers brushing its fur with tender care. “I can’t believe someone would just abandon it like that. It must have been so scared.” Her focus remained on the kitten as she leaned down slightly, speaking to it in soft, soothing tones. “Don’t worry, little one. You’re safe now.”

He pivots towards her when she saunters to the couch and plops herself in the cushions. At home, Cel, are you? In his leaky apartment, ageing musk and sawdust litter the surfaces. Reid's home repairs are a work in progress. Cheap, cheerful and always done in the peak of starvation; a last hail mary to be distracted from an inevitable need.

Halstead's close to wrapping fingers around her throat when she gives him an order. There are pages of a book in her hand — it doesn't appear to be of the grimoire variety.

His exasperation draws out a scratch in his throat, his hands wind around the back of the sofa when he looks down at a head of hair, peering over her to witness: "Have you just opened Carmilla, are you trying to be a comedian?"

For a moment she thought about not explaining at all, because it might get another reaction from him. But then again, didn't everything she did get a reaction out of him lately? "I’m the source of your nightmares. They’re a manifestation of my own power gone wrong. It’s all about balance." She moved to get up from the couch, leaving her book sitting where she was. And yes, she was reading Carmilla. "Because I caused this imbalance, my presence can restore it. Being near you can help neutralize the nightmares I inadvertently gave you."

She waited for him to tell her to get the fuck out of his apartment or something close to that, before that, she tried one more time. "I know it sounds crazy, but magic is all about cause and effect. I can counteract the chaos I’ve caused in your mind. It's not permanent, but it's something. So what will it be, something or nothing?"

Cel has done more damage than she could possibly know. Reid won't detail what he sees, only mentions his waking grievances; the darkening of his eyes when he fails to get any reprieve from the horror of hallucinations.

"You've no idea how hard I'm trying too," To stop himself from an abundance of heinous acts. And perhaps it was wrong to dismiss her — but she's offered him an olive branch on hope.

He's a fool to take it, he knows. But he does it anyway.

Be sure, Cel. "An ancient spell." It's deadpan. It's always something ancient. Something he cannot possibly begin to fathom — he has always put ends to such things; he has no place for such things. Burned and buried deeper than six feet. Reid had trusted her enough before to try to alleviate some aspect of his purgatory. Apprehension is a venom that excretes from his pores now.

"Almost certain — Cel—" It's a frustrated sigh, accompanied by a huff that she's got to have a catch in everything. It isn't about liking her — she's a witch; a terrible, awful one which might be why Reid didn't particularly loathe her. She leaves little option for him to protest when she's already made his immortality unbearable: "What's the alternative?" He steps back and begins to make a cavern of space between them. "I slowly cave to insanity because you messed up a fucking spell?"

If he hasn't already, that is.

Reid’s anger was palpable, his frustration cutting through her like a knife, but it doesn't stop her from making herself comfortable as if it were her own home. After all, she will be inside that apartment for the next eight hours or more if everything goes according to plan. The nightmares stemmed from her, a twisted reflection of her own turmoil. The realization dawned on her: she was both the source of his torment and the key to ending it. By being near him, she could act as a counterbalance, neutralizing the nightmares she had inadvertently brought into his life.

"It’s not just about casting a spell; it’s about restoring the balance that I disrupted." She could try to explain everything to him, but what would be the point? Would he even listen? "And yes," she said carelessly, "that's pretty much the alternative. So," Céleste made her way to Reid's couch and took a seat, not before pulling out a novel from her tote bag. Sitting cross-legged, she looked at him. "Alright then, off to bed you go." She opened her book.

He watches her with a glint in his eyes, unmoving even when she touches him again. If she only knew what monster he was, how he could easily lose control. He chuckles. “Thanks? I wash it with all-in-one soap.”

"All-in-one soap? How… efficient," she said, her voice tinged with amusement. She swayed slightly, her balance unsteady. Reaching out, she grabbed his arm, linking hers with his to keep herself steady. She blinked up at him, her gaze unfocused but sincere. "A walk sounds nice. And more strawberries sound even nicer." Her fingers tightened around his arm, ensuring she wouldn’t stumble. "Lead the way"

"You knocked on my door, witch." A verbal bite back as he kicks shut the door behind them. Cel brushes past him and helps herself to his shabby apartment. Reid doesn't care why she ends up in his place, or what hex she wants to torture him with this time. There's less than a handful of things she could say that would earn his respect.

Latin. Texts. Read. Yeah, he's done that too. For nights at a time in the library. He could have told her that. In fact, he's sure he has. He's given her a task, and she's failed it (multiple times thus far), so what else was left than to put an end to all of this wasted time.

"No." It's deadpan. Fact. He didn't care, not until she met his gaze and he was closing in on her like he might actually consider doing something regretful —

She says one of those very few things that has his attention. He stops his pursuit and stares at her. Crushing the swell in his chest that seems almost hopeful that she's right. He tries not to allow it to gain root; it's a pain that sours each and every time it shatters.

"Then tell me. But you better be sure."

Céleste's eyes narrowed at Reid's biting words, a flicker of defiance breaking through her usual submissiveness. "I'm trying, okay? I know I fucked up, but I'm trying." She straightened her shoulders, meeting his gaze. "So you don't get to dismiss me like that."

During her relentless search for a solution, Céleste had stumbled upon an ancient text buried in the forgotten corners of a library. The text spoke of a way to undo the damage she had caused, a method to cleanse the nightmares she had inadvertently inflicted upon Reid. The instructions were cryptic, but she had poured over them, deciphering every word, every symbol, convinced that this was the key. "It's an ancient spell. Listen, I won't lie, I can backfire, but I'm almost certain it won't."

He likes to wander at night, snacking on human food if only to remind himself of what he lost, what was taken from him. Colliding with a stranger, however, shatters any facade of normality he had been trying to create. The familiarity of that face, her scent, it makes him sway on his feet, unmoving even when she reaches out to touch his hair. The shivers. Bianca is dead, he reminds himself, blinking.

“I'm pretty real,” he chuckles, bemused by this stranger. She is high, he can tell, and her easy mistake between reality and hallucinations is what makes him stay. “Would you like a strawberry?” He offers her the bag, plopping his strawberry into his mouth.

"You’re one of the good ones, aren’t you?" she continued, her voice dreamy and distant. She looked at him with a soft, almost reverent expression, as if she truly believed he was a benevolent hallucination. "You bring sweetness instead of shadows."

He's barely slept, because of her.

Reid's sure he's a half breath away from tearing the door from its frame when he glares at her, yelling like he needs the whole apartment block knowing his business.

"What is wrong with you?" It's hissed under his breath, leering forward, naturally drawing closer to her. It's his turn, to say stupid things and he doesn't want to play friendlies with anyone — let alone someone like Céleste; a witch with a wily grin, and a little too good skill at trading favours with monsters.

Despite that, Cel finds a way to warm the cold of his heart. A match lit. Hunter's, she says — like she still views him beyond the obvious- against what every other jeering eye sees. Her perception is unlike the rest of those who might later carve Reid up and put him on a spike. Finally, he makes his own case against her presence known; bitter, rough-edged about what curse she put on him. And if she doesn't have something he needs, then he doesn't want to see her at his door. "Shouldn't you be asleep at this time? Some of us are nightmare-free, Cel."

She stops herself, almost a flash of guilt and remorse curses through her eyes, but she's not quiet and submissive Celest when she's around him. "Do not take that tone with me, Halstead."